And Darkness Fell
by Molly1completed stories
Summary: Sarah has moved on from her childhood fantasies. With that she has found a stable job, an apartment in the city and a boyfriend who she loves. But Jareth and the Underground are in trouble. Someone is raping the magic and from the keepers, leaving Jareth in the grips of mortality. An unfinished story from 2002 that I'm trying to complete
1. Chapter 1

The King's Fall. Sarah's Last Case. The Necklace.

In the dark of night, the castle at the center of the Labyrinth, beyond the Goblin City, always looked like a pale bone against the sky. The tallest spire, that shot straight up into the heaven's themselves, became something of a beacon in the middle of the moonless Sky. Dark storm clouds rolled heavy and pendulous overhead. Sheet lightning played across the undulating clouds, though the ground remained dry and rainless.

Jareth sat, looking across his kingdom, from the window at the peak of his tallest spire. One leg curled beneath him, and the other draped languidly along the side of his castle, moving back and forth in the cool wind. Had he been anyone else the sheer height would have been terrifying.

Clashing metal resonated through the night, and Jareth rose to walk back within his castle. His thick-heeled boots echoing against the masonry walls, and across the wood planked floor. He paused at the inlet of the winding staircase, watching as torchlight began to jump and dance following voices of the advancing armies.

Narrowing his eyes, Jareth spread his arms and a great sheet of magic protected his stronghold from the oncoming enemy. His forces had been defeated, his castle taken, and shortly they would surmount enough energy to break his spell and take the great Goblin King prisoner, within his own kingdom. Jareth trembled, and moved hastily to the farthest edge of the small and nearly empty room.

Here it was, the only method of escape. It was the final chance to save the magic from the dark lord's clutches. Distance had to be placed between himself and the enemy, less ruination fall to the whole of the Underground. Already the Royal Court had announced casualities that numbered in the tens of thousands, and their ruling parties were nothing more than prisoners of war to the tyrant that stormed the lands- unrelenting.

The thought firm in his mind, Jareth widened his arms to take flight as his traveling form, the white owl. "I wouldn't attempt the escape, Jareth, your already too late," the voice hissed from behind him. The Goblin King lowered his arms and turned, to face the cold and calculated glare offered to him by the darkly swathed Prince.

"Damien," Jareth stated calmly, walking towards his adversary with lengthy and only slightly hesitant steps. "How nice of you to drop in, and the entourage preceding you was quite the pleasure." He grinned and then stopped, as Damien himself chuckled deep laughter.

"I would have expected more from you, Jareth. But then you grow weak in your old age," he responded, and slowly uncovered his gloved hands. Behind him, Jareth noticed several armed gaurds, brandishing thick metal weapons, that stung the air with their whetted edges. Damien gestured for them to come forward, as they did obediently. "Give me the crystal, Jareth."

"You have no idea the power your demanding," the King spat out. Damien's eyes danced, but he made no attempt to prove his point, the soldiers carried out that aspect of the conquest. Jareth watched them come, both sides flanked by two straight-faced guards. Their swords and shields held out, at arms length, betrayed their fear directed towards the Goblin King. His infamous name known far and wide in the Underground, had made the slender man standing at length seem nothing short of a disappointment. "It will destroy you, Damien. A sorcerer cannot hope to contain it, even immortals have failed."

"Are you referring to yourself?" Damien stepped out, between his guards and stopped their progress towards the King with a brief gesture of his hand. He came upon Jareth, separated from him by a foot, if not less, and then stared into the Goblin King's churning and sparking eyes. "I see no powerful King before me, but an old man." Damien's hand snaked out and he grabbed the silver chain, strung around Jareth's neck. "But then, I can't chance your meddling in my plans."

With a snap, the sorcerer turned and his guards came on, rushing in at the King before he had a chance to react. They drove him back, and Jareth, unable to work his magics, found himself floundering out of the window, at which he had sat only moments earlier. But then his legs were caught, and Damien's face appeared above him. "Do you know what an immortal is without his magic, Jareth?" the darker man questioned.

"I will see you dead!" Jareth cried out, ignoring his perilous situation.

Damien just cocked his head to one side and then, producing one slender dagger, drove into Jareth's thigh. The King reared his head back, and lost his brief hold on the ledge. The next instant he was falling through space, and plummeting to the ground below. Damien, raising his eyebrows in shock as he turned to take the steep staircase back to the ground level, chuckled again to himself. "An immortal without his magic," at this he paused and held the crystal, which had been strung along the chain around Jareth's neck, up to eye level, "...is mortal."

The day always started the same. A shrill alarm clock bleating into the warm silence of the early morning, followed by the inevitable struggle from bed and shuffling into the cold tiled bathroom. Then, yawning in front of the mirror, the next step was to the shower and twisting the handles so that the small room filled with dense steam. After the shower it was on to wardrobe, hair, make-up (courtesy of Mabelline), and rushing out the door with a breakfast cereal bar and enough change to grab a quick cup of coffee from "Java Express" down the street.

It was dull, boring, life in a rut, but at least it was dependable. Something Sarah could rely on. There was little more left that continued on tirelessly at such perfect regularity day after day. On that particular morning she reached out with one slender hand and felt along the top of her dresser for her alarm clock- somehow it was out of reach.

Sarah lifted herself up, yawning and scratching her back as she arched it into a delicious stretch. Gazing to her left, she noted the clock, not far, but not where she had left it the night before. "Strange," she mused, guiding it back to the corner of her dresser as she silenced the mechanical beeping.

On the other side of the room her Cell phone erupted into a chorus of something classical. At that point in the morning Sarah couldn't decipher one song from the other if she wanted. She stumbled out of bed, succeeded in banging her knee against her wooden trunk, and then swore the rest of the way to her phone- still charging from it's overnight siesta. "Hello?" Sarah inquired, sounding less than pleased and by far removed from her usual chipper self.

"Sarah, hon, we've got a problem," came the startling response. She rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand, blinking the sleep away. The dawning sun was sending tendrils of daylight through her blinds, and Sarah walked over to them to slide the little slats open. Cars were already blaring along the streets, amidst billows of mist from manholes.

"You know I'm not on for another hour Deb." The blinds closed again and Sarah padded towards the bathroom. She paused to look at her image in the mirror, ran a hand through her hair and then turned to sit on the toilet. The silence on the other line prompted her to continue: "What is it?"

Relief in the form of a sigh followed on the other side of the flip-cover phone. "Something with the Quintly Case..."

"God, what now?" she inquired.

Another long pause followed. Deb cleared her throat and then, breathing out, muttered: "You know I wouldn't call you if it hadn't been of the utmost importance. Not at this hour." This was a preparation for something awful, Sarah could sense it. She knew even before the words flew out of Deb's mouth the next instant. Something had disrupted her morning schedule. The day was off balance.

"Uh-huh."

"It's on most the channels." Sarah crossed to the other side of the room to snap on her little television set. The first image, which had replaced her usual early morning news hour and talk show, was that of her worst nightmares. She dropped the phone, and didn't move to retrieve it, even when Deb continued talking to her absent boss. Instead, bending down, she glared at the TV and shook her head.

"Great," she muttered, snapping it off. At this she did notice the phone, but was beyond the point of needing more information. What she needed then was a new client, and perhaps a new line of work completely. "Just goddamn great!"

She rushed herself into the bathroom, cranked the hot water up as high as it would go in her shower, and then tumbled in before her anger got the best of her. On the dresser the clock had suffered from some sort of power failure. It's digital face boasted red flashing numbers: 13 o'clock.

The workplace was anything but calm when she entered. She was met with a bustle of paperwork, shoved into her awaiting arms, and two paralegals who were overanxious to brief her on the most recent development behind the Quintly case fiasco. As well as she could handle, Sarah dealt with the information, until she found her office door and floundered inside before being buried in the formalities.

"Why me?" she inquired, pressing her back against the slick wooden door she had used to separate her own quiet workspace from the chaos beyond it. However, it was only a matter of time before she had to face the inescapable. The folders fell upon her desk, out of her overburdened arms, as Sarah drooped into her chair.

The intercom buzzed and Sarah lifted her eyes towards the black phone sitting ominously on her desk. "Have you dealt with it?" the voice drifted into her space, prompting Sarah to sit straight in her chair and lean in closer for her response.

"What do you expect me to do, Mr. Peterson?" her question came out a bit too sarcastic and Sarah could, again, sense the trouble surrounding the day. "I-I mean, he succeeded in going through a high speed chase during the morning traffic and nearly killed..."

"Do you think I care about that?" Sarah tried to interject, but was abruptly cut off. "You get your client under control, Ms. Williams, or we'll be seriously reconsidering that partnership offer." The news settled against her, diffusing around like a bad omen cloud that hung overhead. Sarah breathed deep and bit her tongue to refrain from jeopardizing her probable promotion. "Do we have an understanding?"

She smothered a sweet smile over her lips and directed her eyes through the glass wall on the left of her office towards the balding man across the hall. He was watching her closely, bent over his own phone. "Of course." She raised a hand towards the boss and then leant back in the chair so as to be out of sight.

The entire case had been a mistake from the start. One problem after another eventually culminated into the day's disaster. And through it all Sarah could see the proverbial carrot strung just barely out of her reach: partnership. The goal that lingered in the back of her mind through her trials in court, and any number of hard fought victories. For a girl who had done nothing but dream her life's profession had been something of a surprise.

"I need a vacation," she whispered to herself, flipping open her briefcase. However, before she had a chance to get to work on the latest problems regarding her client, Sarah noticed a little package tucked against one fold of the rich leather. Her smile returned and she fished the present out, turning it over in her hand as she shook her head with a laugh. "Jake."

It was small, petite, and swathed in a pale pink bow that was, nearly, larger than the box itself. Sarah lifted her eyes again, looking into the hall for signs of her boyfriend, but saw, again, only the frantic faces of her paralegals flustering themselves over paperwork and phone calls. He was nowhere to be seen.

Bright blue eyes, handsome face, charming smile- Sarah's prince charming. The man she would marry, or so she had told herself a thousand times over during their long courtship. But then he had been the only serious relationship in her long run of short romances and brief dating histories. Length itself made her commitment to Jake that much more special.

Taking hesitation aside, Sarah pulled open the box's top. It was jewelry, and beautiful, but not what she had been hoping for. Her spirits slightly withered from the sight and Sarah took the delicate silver chain into her hand so that she could see the necklace in the light from her lamps. "Guess I'll have to wait for the ring to match it," she thought aloud.

Despite her making light of the situation, something weighted heavy in Sarah's gut when she spun the necklace between her two fingers. The little shiny bauble that dangled from the end of one long piece of corkscrewed silver filament, (which also wrapped around the circumference of the aforementioned trinket), was strikingly familiar. And, if she had to describe it, Sarah found herself immediately thinking...

*I've brought you a gift*

...a crystal.

But that was her adolescence talking, a time that was, *thank god*, long past her. Some fifteen years past. She shivered at the thought of age and the sheer magnitude of time and miles and growing up that separated her from her past. Proving that she was beyond superstition, Sarah strung the necklace around her slender neck and clasped it on the first attempt. It bounced against her collarbones when she got up, making it that much more difficult to imagine that it was something only...

ONLY!

...related to her boyfriend. He had seen it, thought of her, bought it, and now it was looped over her neck and sparkling in the sunshine that struck its spherical body. Sarah opened her office door to meet the onslaught of questions.

She listened briefly, but only long enough to remember that she'd forgotten to feed her meter downstairs. "Ruby," Sarah interjected, laying her hands on the young paralegal's stiff shoulders. The girl's eyes widened as she nodded energetically. "Contact Mr. Quintly right away and let him know that he's not to answer anything until I have a word with him."

Fishing through her pockets for change, Sarah grabbed hold of the younger girl's arm before letting her leave. "And please make sure that he realized that this will be his last opportunity for making an Ass out of both himself and me." Sarah smiled sweetly and raised her eyebrows once to emphasize the importance of her message. The girl, Ruby, nodded again and managed a brief goodbye as she gathered together her things to leave.

Sarah was already out the door. Immediately the tension in the air lessoned and, by the time she was in the elevator and passing through the eleventh floor- on the way down to the tenth- she could imagine that the day had the chance of turning around. Then the little crystal on the end of her necklace slid against her skin, and the goose bumps that followed only further assured her that there would probably be no way to remedy the already destroyed morning.

Further proof came when she rounded the corner to her car and noticed the yellow ticket flapping in the chilled breeze, positioned right below her windshield wiper. "Why did I bother to wake up?" Passer- bys exchanged a short glance her way, met with Sarah's icy glare when she ripped the parking violation from her windshield and jammed enough money into the meter to last her through the day and most of the night.

"Your really very beautiful when your angry," a voice stated from behind her. Sarah turned, relieved to find no more surprises, other than the pleasant one offered by her lover, who had appeared suddenly on her side of town. "Did I ever tell you that before?"

"No," she answered gently, sashaying her way into his arms. Sarah tilted her head up and kissed him, watching his blue eyes sparkle.

"Well, now I have." He returned her kiss and then slid his hands along the small of her back. "So, what luck to find you down here. I hate trenching my way through the hordes of there." Jake gestured towards the middle of the high-rise, from where Sarah had just come. She giggled briefly, laying her head against his shoulder.

"Luck has nothing to do with this day."

Jake just squeezed her tighter and then, draping his arm around her waist, turned her around to walk away from the office. Sarah stopped him, mid-stride, and then, with a depleted sigh, separated herself from his warmth. "Can't play hooky today?" he asked, turning the corners of his mouth down in a pleading expression that tugged at Sarah's heart enough to only further make her love the boy.

But she had to turn him down, less lose her prime opportunity up at the Law Offices of blah blah blah. "Nope," she stated plainly, jerking her hands into the pockets of her slacks. "Listen, I have a load of work to get done today, and I'm probably gonna be home pretty late."

"You know what, that's fine," he stated, hindering her from further explaining the reason for her bad day and extended work hours. Jake stepped forward, kissed her gently and then swung her hand in his for a moment. "You just get back to me sometime tonight and I'll be happy."

Sarah could only smile as she moved away from him, back to the hustle and bustle of the office. She had quite the mess to clean up, over the course of the day. "Sarah!" he called as she walked away, and she turned to look over her shoulder towards him. "I like the necklace."

He was out of sight before Sarah could determine if he had intended the compliment as a joke- reflecting his good taste on choosing the gift... or if he had never seen it before. She shivered again, clutching her arms around her torso and then entered back through the double glass doors, which led into the great belly of the office building. Mirrored windows sparkled around her, and she caught her reflection in one before catching an elevator that was, very nearly, packed full of business people sipping cofee and sharing in small talk.

Somehow she felt, pressed against the corner and between two large men with sweat standing out on their brows, that Jake wasn't being witty when he commented on the necklace. She touched it again as she pushed her way through the crowd to get off on her floor, and then promptly forced the worried thoughts out of her mind. But then, it seemed strange that she should be wearing a present, left in her briefcase of all places, that had not been offered to her by her boyfriend.

She spent another few minutes in her office, gathering papers and folders before she left again for the subway and towards the holding facility where Mr. Quintly had been detained since the chase. Nodding briefly to Mr. Peterson, on the phone and pacing in his office, Sarah made her hasty retreat back into something that resembled calm rationality.

But unease wouldn't leave her, and she found herself checking over her shoulder during the entire trip downtown.


	2. Chapter 2

House of Healing. Ice Cream Binge. A Night Visitor

Sarah entered the office, peering out from under a hat that had been drenched in a quick spring rain. Her hair stuck, plastered to her shining face, and hung in dripping tendrils down her back- over the pea coat that, itself, had gained double its own weight from sheer water volume. Things silenced as she entered and, taking the hat off of her head, Sarah glared at the people who met her eyes.

"What?" she demanded. Immediately they returned to their priorities. Sarah tapped her boots on the rug and then skidded past her interns to the seclusion of her office.

It had been a good month since Mr. Quintley had found himself jailed after the fiasco on the freeway. Now, brewing in another cell for violation of his bail terms, he was like a man on the brink of the inevitable. What jury would ignore the countless layers of facts that piled and piled as Sarah tried, hopelessly, to sort through them all. Unfortunately, she was unable to keep up.

And, as she entered her office, she realized that there was more than one unfortunate thing concerning that day. Mr. Peterson was sitting on her desk, winding a hand around her phone cord. His face was set, not a glimmer of anything in his blue eyes.

"Mr. Peterson... I didn't expect...," she trailed off when he rose and began walking, slowly towards her.

"I didn't think we had a misunderstanding the last time. I'm certain you realized what was riding on this case, at least you seemed to assure me of as much," he paused, standing only a few feet in front of Sarah now. She dropped her briefcase on the ground beside her, and, stepping past her boss, draped her soaked coat on her leather chair.

"Of course, I have everything under control, Mr. Peterson. I just went by to visit Mr. Quintley and we discussed..." Again she was abruptly cut off.

"It doesn't appear to me or my associates that you have things under control Sarah. In fact, we think that you got yourself into this too deep. I'll be handling Mr. Quntley's case from here on in." The set of his mouth convinced her, before she uttered another word, that there would be no discussion on the mater. Her chest heaved once as she realized that opportunity had just brushed her by.

Now it was time to plead. "Mr. Peterson, I swear to you that I can do this. I might have been hasty in claiming that I had everything under control, but it is all in order. I already have the case made, arguments, witnesses," she offered, hope diminishing as was her voice. She felt her shoulders slump beneath her boss's calculated stare.

"As of today your on a two week leave. When I've sorted through your mess, we'll discuss further your future here," he said, and his mouth turned slowly into a cheap grin. Tobacco stained teeth were revealed between his plump lips. Sarah couldn't speak as she watched the man fade out through the doorway.

Desperation clung to her as she followed him out. What she planned on doing had not quite hit her, not until his door slammed right in her face. Sarah stopped, her nose inches from the wooden surface and blinked. Glancing to her right she noted the two paralegals exchanging nervous glances. Whispers were growing and fading around her, like a surging and ebbing of the tide.

She straightened her navy jacket and then quickly left the hallway. Sarah allowed the door to click into its frame. Only then, when she had drawn down the blinds over the wide glass walls, did she submit to the frustration that boiled inside her. The tears that spouted out were as unexpected as had been the sudden meeting with her boss, and the culmination of his discussion.

Sarah slipped to the ground, beside her large briefcase, and curled her legs against her chest. Her hand slipped against her mouth, grinding her knuckles against her teeth to stiffle the sounds of her hitched breaths and little plaintive moans.

It took a few more minutes to compose herself and wipe the mascara rings from beneath her red eyes. When she again left her office, carefully locking it behind herself- For the last time Sarah thought- there was a lull throughout the firm. Eyes were carefully downcast and voices very discreet.

She at least appreciated their attempts.

Sarah left quickly, glancing not once at the receptionist, her interns, the nervous paralegals in the corner... she just ran away. The elevator stood open for her, and Sarah leapt inside, grateful for the solitude. There were no stops on the long ride down from the high rise office complex.

"Short day?" the security guard, Merv was his name, said to her with a short smile. Sarah turned to him and nodded, her own face merely softened for his caring enough to notice. She raced into the rain, grateful for the feel of it on her flushed face, and then walked along the sidewalks towards her car.

She was chilled completely through, and shivering as she approached the little silver Honda. There was still several hours worth of time on the meter, but it didn't phase her a she pulled out into the busy downtown streets. There would be another hour commute home. Sarah didn't even notice, driving the streets and byways out of sheer instinct. Her mind was lingering elsewhere.

When the Goblin King opened his eyes again he was looking upon a warm interior of a simple cottage-like home. Above him thick boards of wood interlocked like a lattice, holding the structure of the peaked roof together. Jareth blinked, startled. His last memory had been plummeting to death, hitting a hard and unforgiving ground that was only briefly softened by the thick hedges which lined his castle.

Now... He rose to an elbow, cringing at the pain that tickled along his spine. There was a mattress beneath him, not as fine and elite as the one in the castle, but comfortable and clean. To his left was a basin of water, and a cloth draped over the ceramic lip.

Something seemed vaguely familiar about the place. Across the way was a dresser, on which were ointments and herbs. A few had been crushed and worked into a broth that steamed. Jareth inhaled deeply and could almost taste the sweetness of the aroma. It was both satisfying and invigorating.

The only entrance was a door, which was shut- leading Jareth to believe that this was simply a room to a larger house. He chanced rising to a sitting position. Bruised and wounded muscles screamed as he lifted himself up, and a fur pelt slipped off the foot of the bed and onto the ground.

"I'm glad to see you up," a voice stated. But it was so familiar that it tugged at Jareth's memories when he turned to look at the slim man standing in the now open doorway. He had dark hair, and more tan of a complexion than Jareth. In the slant of his cheekbones and the curve of his jaw one could nearly see a raw regality hidden, only a few generations back. And blanketed beneath a curtain of thick black lashes were eyes so strange that they nearly seemed violet, particularly as Jareth now saw him.

"Gideon," the King said, raising the corners of his mouth into an easy smile. "I had no idea." He nearly continued, but Gideon seemed to understand. There was open concern in his eyes and he crossed quickly to the dresser, taking the broth in hand that had smelled so sweetly. The warm liquid tasted as good as it smelled, and Jareth quickly consumed the entire contents.

Gideon pulled a chair up beside the bed, sitting lightly as he watched Jareth. When the King had finished eating he turned to the man who had cared for him. There was cold steel in his gaze. "How long?" There was a moment of unease in the quiet of the cabin home. Gideon shuffled his feet from one side of the chair to the other.

"Five days," he sucked in air and fixed Jareth with his eyes. The Goblin King would have no softening of the details. Behind the harsh wounds outlining the man's face, Gideon could see the power and determination. "I don't know how long you were down there, but it was at least a day and a night before I dared chance sneaking into the castle grounds."

At this Jareth's surety seemed to wither. He remained poised, as if in thought, for minutes on end. "Damien," he whispered, at last. The name made the air thicken through the room, hanging like low and heavy mist- ready for the storm. Jareth felt it, perhaps, more intrinsically, than Gideon. But it bowed them both beneath an unseen but undeniable weight. "What has happened?"

Gideon looked at the king. "I don't know. I've heard some stories about the armies and the dark sorcerer," he could not bear to speak the name again. It came out foul and tasted like poison on his lips. In response Gideon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. A noise from outside sent both pairs of eyes flashing towards the window- past the wooden shutters. But all was quiet.

"Then there is little time if they've already left," Jareth concluded. He had wasted too much of the precious moments left to them (those who stood against the power of Damien) holed away in this place of healing. The Goblin King reached out and grasped Gideon's slim arm, the pressure making his friend and healer look directly into Jareth's flashing eyes. "I must go... do you know if my father still stands?"

The mention of the old man in his ivory kingdom made the corners of Jareth's mouth twitch. He hated the prospect of going there for help, but it seemed he had little choice. Gideon nodded, still too overwhelmed at the idea of the King leaving to say much else. But when Jareth did gather his strength and stand from the bed, the weakness was evident in the way he walked. Gideon rose beside him. "You won't make it, not like this. What use are you if you die on the way?"

"If I don't go now then more might die!"

"Jareth, your mortal!" The words hovered over them and Jareth lifted his head just slightly to deal with the sharp blow. It was true. He felt it like he sensed the injuries he had sustained. The fall would have hurt him when magic had once coursed through his body, but seven days... "You won't last the night."

He twisted on his heels to face Gideon. The man was lean, and trembling as he looked at the king. But suddenly, he seemed strong and sure of what had to be done. "I'll go," he said at last. The tilt to Jareth's head betrayed emotion he had not yet been willing to reveal.

"No," he said simply, and laid a hand on the door knob. Gideon, however, was at his side, and pushed the Goblin King away. Much to his dismay, Jareth could not fend off the attack. He fixed his old friend with a cold glare, setting his mouth into a thin white line. "You do not want to do this, Gideon. I know the way. They'll find you and they'll kill you. Do you expect me to sit here, healing, while I watch the Underground falling to the hands of that bastard Damien?"

Gideon tarried at the door. He was yet terrified, seeing the powerful Goblin King reduced to what now stood before him. But there was a mounting determination within him. "Then we'll go together... but not yet. Tomorrow night," Gideon opened the door and a shock of brilliant sun poured across the wood-planked floor. Jareth lifted an eyebrow in question and almost interjected, but instead allowed his mouth to tug itself into a short smile.

"Alright. It is another day for darkness to take the Underground, but Damien is far from having the thirteen...," Jareth laid an arm over Gideon's shoulder, partly in comradary and partly for support as he walked on weakened legs. His muscles quivered, and one knee buckled under his weight as, slowly, they made their way into a long hall, lined with plush mattresses and dressers. Another long line of shelves were stacked along walls, piled with any number of herbs and flora of all kinds.

"Do you mean the crystals?" Damien inquired, careful to breech the subject. Jareth nodded, but he had spent his energy and was walking on sheer power of will. With a sigh he dropped his arm from around Gideon and slipped down to sit, plaintively, on the nearest bed.

"He took mine... hence the mortality. I don't have my magic anymore. The Labyrinth has a new master," he stated, half-musing to himself. Then, as if suddenly brought back to attention, Jareth fixed Gideon in his sight. "For once I am relieved that you chose to leave the Goblin City- and the borders of my kingdom."

Gideon twisted at the comment, and quickly retired himself to other errands in the place of healing. Jareth, exhausted from the short expenditure of energy, laid back and rested his head on one full pillow. Scents of soothing chamomile filled the air, and Jareth let his eyes slip closed. Gideon had at least been right about one thing, he wasn't ready for the journey to his Father's kingdom. He wouldn't make it past the borders of the Goblin City, much less through the labyrinth.

For a while he enjoyed the feeling of the clean sunshine on his face, until he heard Gideon return with a brief clearing of his throat. Jareth opened his eyes slowly, adjusting them again to the light. Gideon had fresh bandaging in his arms, white linen and a bowl with a white salve that smelled vaguely like… vegetables? Jareth lifted his head and eyed the substance.

"Not sure if I should trust that," he directed the shrug of his shoulders towards the medicine.

"I don't think you have that option… unless you'd rather suffer blood infection and the loss of your leg," Gideon lifted one raven eyebrow and set his face seriously. There was a pinching in the corner of his eye as he waited. Jareth, unable to hold off, faded into laughter as he quickly disrobed.

The body beneath his simple, but warm and dry clothes (some Gideon had obviously changed the Goblin King into after his rescue), was badly bruised. The linen that had dressed his leg wound- which he finally recalled had been inflicted by Damien himself just prior to the perilous fall- was soaked in blood and a patch of inflamed skin circled it a few inches on all sides. His chest was bound as well, and packed against his left side, below his arm.

"It was a long fall, your lucky nothing was broken," Gideon reasoned as he snipped loose the cloth and bandaging material with sharpened scissors. Jareth watched, quietly, as the dressing revealed an angry wound, but with fresh and clean edges that had started to granulate together. Whatever necrotic tissue had once infected the area, was gone. Probably removed by the skillful hand of the healer. "If I had been much later all this tissue," Gideon pointed out the reddened area, "Would have been lost. You'd still be many weeks in bed as it healed. None of my salves can work those sorts of miracles… not anymore."

His eyes tarried on the King at this last statement, and Jareth noted some of the old resentment, and a touch of used jealousy. But it had been so long ago- Jareth ignored the sight and turned, instead, to watch the outside through the open window. "I think it was more than luck. I should be dead, or worse wounded than this. I think Damien knows," Jareth mused. Gideon's hand slipped and the roll of linen he had been, gently, wrapping around Jareth's leg fell on the ground and slid across the room.

"Great," he murmured, under his breath, and retrieved the bandaging quickly, so as to maintain its sterility. Jareth didn't need a chance at new infections. He returned and, snipping part off, looked again at the king. "Lift your arms."

Jareth did as he was told, but his body cried out for the pain that such a movement caused. Gideon just continued to bandage. When the job was done and Jareth redressed, they both sat together and drank warm tea, made with a flower (which Gideon would not name) that brought energy and vitality to those who ingested it. At length Gideon removed both empty cups, letting them sit on the nearest dresser.

"Why is it empty?" Jareth inquired, thinking of the many injured who laid in dirt and petulance found in the Goblin City. He had had an army there, of people (yes, people, not Goblins) who rallied to defend their King. With the threat of darkness many were willing to raise arms. But they had failed, and the causalities sustained were immense. The image of the blood and death filled the Goblin King's mind as he looked at Gideon, waiting an answer.

"I'm retired," Gideon said, shortly, and rose to his feet.

But this was an answer Jareth couldn't accept. He managed to stand, but the pain in his leg and chest burned so that his mind swum. He reached blindly and grabbed hold of the lip of the dresser. One of the two empty cups hit the ground, exploding into thin slices of porcelain. "How can you say that? Do you know the death that covers the Underground now? Now of all times, you decide to… quit?"

Gideon's anger reared and he came upon the Goblin King so quickly that Jareth, himself, backed down. The bed caught him just behind his knees, and he sat quickly into the mattress. The healer's violet eyes flashed once as he pulled his face tight in his rage. "I served you, Jareth! I was there, or do you forget? Power corrupts, Goblin King, and I saw every last moment of its destruction. But it didn't destroy you, only people I loved- and those you loved too."

His voice sunk as did his infuriation, and Gideon turned his bowed back to the King. Jareth could find nothing to say. His mouth, slack with shock, hung agape as Gideon went to leave the main hall. "Wait!" The healer paused and turned to look at his once king. Jareth pulled himself up, strode to the middle of the room, and stood in a bank of sun that streamed through the window. "I had no idea."

"Maybe it's time you start paying attention, Jareth. You need to see what's really happening here. I know what needs to be done, as does your father. He'll say the same thing," Gideon remarked, but he was tired, and his voice came out monotone. Jareth's face had blanched. He also knew what was to be suggested.

"No."

"You have to bring her here. Soon he'll find her and then he will have completed what you never could. And the world will fall under darkness and death forever."

Jareth returned to the bed, now queasy with pain and fear and that which had been proposed by Gideon. Somehow it seemed that he had, conveniently, forgotten her and the time she had been in his Labyrinth. His only victor, the only one who ever returned to her home and dull life. Jareth was aghast at the suggestion, but somehow, he had always known that it would come to this. Now, however, he had no way to take her… perhaps that had been a blessing.

"I cannot bring Sarah back," he finally whispered. But it was loud enough for Gideon to hear.

"Then we are all doomed."

Sarah laid on her bed, burying her face into her down comforter as she tossed what remained of the quart of cookie dough ice cream into the nearby garbage. The large soup spoon was still in her hand, dripping melted ice cream on to the aforementioned comforter. It was the answer to every disappointment, ice cream, TV, and plenty of tissues. Now all she needed was Jake, and everything would be absolutely perfect.

"Except for the 'I have no job' part of it," she moaned, lifting her head to rub her red and raw eyes. She reached out, searched briefly for the remote control and, finding it, clicked it to another channel. Casablanca was on American Movie Classics and, sighing, Sarah resigned herself to watch whatever remained of it. She rested her chin in her hands and, using her elbows to prop herself up, started to watch it.

Her intercom buzzed and Sarah drug herself away from the sweet self indulgences and her personal yuckiness. She slipped over the carpet in blue bunny slippers and clicked the button. "Yes?" There was a static hiss, though no comment. She was already frustrated and so her voice raised on the second time addressing her visitors. "Is anyone there?" Nothing. FINE Sarah turned to leave again.

Another buzz. Sarah stomped over. "What?" Silence, save the static. She contemplated tearing the intercom off the wall, but decided that her insurance company might not understand the details behind her claim. But she wasn't about to play the games anymore. She crossed quickly to the other side of the room and, pulling open her drape, peered down to the locked entrance to their complex.

A shape cloaked in black stood at the steps, obscured mostly by the fact that it was night and the only light offered was by way of a dim street lamp casting orange on the sidewalk and against the building wall. Sarah narrowed her eyes, ignoring the buzzing from behind her. The thing was all in shadows, millions of shades of black and gray converging into uniformity. She shook her head, trying to pick out her visitor amidst the black surroundings.

"What is this?" she asked herself, nerves tightening to near a snapping point. Then it turned, and she sensed more than saw the being stare at her. But more than that it seemed to look into her. Sarah felt it probing in her mind, searching her for something. Something it wanted. She cringed, feeling poisoned from the sensation of such an act- like a mental rape. Sarah fell back with a little cry, letting the drape cover the window again, and landed swiftly on her tailbone.

She rushed to secure the deadbolt and slide her chain into place across the door. Then, still sensing the beast's glare, ran into her room and locked that door as well. Not until she was well hidden under her comforter with every light off, save one, did she dare to breath.

Sarah stayed like that until Jake called. And didn't open her door until she heard his voice.


End file.
